” “The truth!” There was a brief but intense silence. ” There was a moment’s silence. It could only mean one thing—that her foster daughter was both a whore and a murderer! When Sheila confronted her about it, it was five in the morning. “Is this true, Annabel? Is he dead?” She nodded. Eggs were procured for her, and she sat out the subsequent emotions and eloquence with the dignity becoming an injured lady of good family. Peg after peg had gone down his blistered throat, but never had a smile touched his lips, never had his gaze roved inquisitively. He lived on the seventh floor behind a winding set of hallways that towered over her in their grayness. She recognized the face but could not quite place it. And then they disgorged.
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